And then, on the lower ground of personal security, many professed themselves to be Christians; many who had not troubled themselves to inquire into the doctrines of Christ’s disciples, saw that they practised purity of life and manners, and now that there was no persecution or torture to dread, Christianity became more widely accepted, and the churches were thronged, while the temples were deserted.
It is not possible to take a comprehensive view of the Roman empire at this time. The few incidents which are thrown together, directly or indirectly, affect the action of the story, but a careful study of these early days of Christianity, and the last days of heathenism, will well repay the student; and the secret of silent advance and growth of the faith of Christ will be found to be then, as now, more in the influence of individual character than in fierce controversy or angry invective.
The Church of Rome, as it sprang to light when the edict of 313 was published, was indeed different from the Church, many centuries later, when the Monk of Erfurt entered the city by the Porta del Popoli, full of enthusiasm, and ready to climb the “Scala Santa” on his knees in expiation of his sins.
He entered it a devout son of the Church of the Seven Hills; he left it depressed, disgusted, but determined to do battle, like the valiant soul that he was, against its corrupt practices. In ten years the young monk who had saluted the city on his first entrance as Holy Rome, Rome venerable with the blood of the martyrs, burned the Pope’s Bull in the square of Wittenberg, and with a loud voice, which echoed through Christendom, proclaimed that the Church of the Early Martyrs was so overlaid by the wickedness of a corrupt age, that she must be utterly purged of defilement, before she could be resorted to as the mother under whose wings the people might safely take refuge.
CHAPTER XIII.
A.D. 333—ALEXANDRIA.
Again many years have passed away, and Casca, the son of Severus, is leaning back in his old languid fashion on a couch placed near a window commanding one of the loveliest views upon which the eyes of man have ever rested.
The house was near that magnificent Museum of Alexandria, which, with its famous library, was famous beyond all fame of later times, a fitting treasure-house for its precious manuscripts, and raising a grand white roof against a sky whence rain seldom fell, and turning its noble frontage of pillars and fresco toward the sapphire plain of the tideless Mediterranean.
There were no signs of undue luxury about Casca. The furniture of his room was simple, and yet suggestive of grace and elegance. Large piles of manuscripts lay on shelves, ranged on one side of the room, and in another were the toys of a child, heaped up in confusion, as they had evidently been left by some little tired fingers that were weary of play. The room where Casca sat was divided by a portière from an inner chamber, and a murmur might be heard from it of a woman’s voice, singing in low monotonous tones.